


Snuggle Buddies

by Steerintoit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F-bombs as far as the eye can see, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, IDK Where Cas and Jack are, M/M, Sam Winchester is Neurotic, Swearing, Wherever they go when they're not around, Wincest - Freeform, like a lot of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 06:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17976197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steerintoit/pseuds/Steerintoit
Summary: After Sam has an odd reaction to Dean touching him while he's hurt, Sam suggests they start touching each other more casually and day-to-day in order to train himself out of it. Things happen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If the reader senses a slight poking-fun of how grabby the brothers get when they're fighting bad guys... they wouldn't be wrong. ;)
> 
> Also, removing CW-censorship for this work. I assume Sam and Dean swear, like, a lot. There is a lot of swearing.
> 
> This is my first time writing something a bit longer, and my first time even attempting an admittedly-tame sex scene. I'm not thrilled with all of this, but I was going to drive myself nuts. Feedback welcome!

Sam registered vague surprise as he went flying across the room. Random Demon #4289 should not have been able to get the drop on him like that. Sam crashed straight through the wall of the shitty house they’d tracked this demon to, and skidded hard onto the floor of the next room. In too much pain to open his eyes or move, he thought to himself that he was getting too damn old for hunting, and wondered how Dean still did it. 

Just as he thought it, Sam felt hands gripping his jacket. Dean. Dean’s hands travelled from Sam’s chest to his shoulders, then up to Sam’s face, pushing back his hair. 

“Sam, Sammy!”

Sam raised his arms to grab the backs of Dean’s arms and finally felt like he could open his eyes without passing out. And that was when he realized that Dean’s face was inches away from his own. He hadn’t noticed Dean’s breath against him. Jesus. Dean was stroking Sam’s face and hair, hovering about three inches over Sam’s face, with Sam’s arms wrapped partway around him. 

Suddenly, Sam’s insides had a high-pitched feeling that didn’t seem to be connected to his fall. If he hadn’t been basically pinned under Dean, he might have leapt away. 

As it was, “Dean, it’s alright. I’m alright.” Locking eyes with Dean and squeezing at his arms to reassure him. Dean, who either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care how they looked just now, exhaled in relief and hauled them both up to their feet.

**

A few days later, Sam was still stiff and sore, but could at least sleep without whatever the fuck those pills Dean had were. As _basic movement_ stopped being so problematic, Sam remembered, with a jolt, that weird feeling he’d had when Dean had been checking on him after he fell. _What the holy fuck was that?_ For a second there he had almost… Had he hit his head on the way down? Had he been loopy or confused? How the fuck could he have crossed _that_ wire?

And how could he feel less weird about it now? Life was fucked up enough without, well, anything like that. 

Did he just need to get laid more often? Dean’s voice in his head replied, _No shit Sherlock_. Well yeah, but that wasn’t really on the horizon anytime soon, unless he started picking up random hookups like Dean did. Which, of course Sam had, on occasion, but he just wasn’t into that scene the same way Dean was. And he didn’t really want to start making the rounds in Lebanon. There weren’t exactly tons of unattached women kicking around anyway, and Sam felt like he’d end up poisoning the well fast.

Or, you know. Getting someone killed.

Accepting that enforced celibacy would continue to be his lot in life for the foreseeable future, it struck Sam that apart from those random hookups and Dean, Sam almost never experienced physical contact with anyone. And Dean, well. Most of the time that was pretty utilitarian. Unless someone’s life was on the line, their idea of affection was usually “a brotherly pat on the back”. _(How messed up are we that I knew Dean was basically going to kill himself because he’d hugged me for no reason?)_

No wonder Sam had gotten screwed up. He realized it had been a long, really long time, since anyone had touched him with any genuine affection, outside some kind of apocalyptic situation. It made perfect sense that Dean being that close to him confused him for a moment. He just wasn’t used to it. And since their Dad had apparently trained them both well that the only acceptable physical affection they could have was from random hookups, of course Sam’s mind had gone there. 

Sam figured he needed to train himself, remind himself that touching wasn’t necessarily a romantic or sexual thing. It’s actually supposed to be a normal thing. 

Dean touching him was sure as hell not a sexual or romantic thing.

Once he’d internalized that, he wouldn’t have those weird feelings again.

**

“Dean?”

“Yeah Sam?”

“Do you think it’s kinda dumb that we only hug each other when one of us is dying?”

“Aw, does Sammy want a snuggle buddy?”

“...”

“No sense of humour over here. Alright, what are you talking about?”

“What I said. I told Mom that we don’t hug unless it’s the end of the world, and… don’t you think it’s kinda stupid, after all this, to do this whole machismo, no-homo bullshit with each other?”

“C’mon, you know the rules. No Ch-”

“-No Chick Flick Moments. Yeah, I know. Just - never mind, I just thought it was weird is all. That we’ll die for each other, but just... touching each other, for no reason, because we like each other, is off the table.”

Dean glanced at Sam before looking back to the road. Sam couldn’t imagine having this conversation anywhere than the car. Where they mostly wouldn’t be able to look at each other. Although, there might have been some advantages to doing it at home, where one or both of them could escape the room, crawl under a rock, and die. Which was more or less where he was at right now.

“Sam. I… I don’t exactly have a problem with it. I thought you were the one who was Mr. No Touchy.”

Sam hadn’t realized just how much of his body was tensed until Dean said that, and his muscles released so fast he may have expanded a size right there in the front seat. 

“Yeah, I guess. I can be. I guess I just kinda got used to it, and didn’t really think about it much. It was like everything else. Kinda back burner to the job. But these days, I dunno.” Sam realized about halfway into saying all this that he really, _really_ didn’t want to have to explain this seemingly random change of heart to Dean, and wasn’t really sure what else he could tell him instead.

Thankfully, Dean just eyed him again for a moment _(get your eyes back on the road, Dean!)_ , then nodded slightly, then turned up the radio.

Sam relaxed into his seat. Dean was on board.


	2. Chapter 2

Once the initial awkward we-are-doing-this of it wore off, it was actually pretty nice. Nicer than Sam had realized. He had gone into this almost as a training exercise, realizing he needed to strengthen certain muscles. But once he relaxed into it, he had to admit a certain appreciation for late-night movies that ended with Dean snoring against his shoulder, or Sam himself passed out and Dean waking him up by rubbing his shoulder or back, or even stroking his hair. It was an intimacy that Sam hadn’t experienced for years and years, and had convinced himself he didn’t particularly need.

He had come to rather like it. 

And Dean… was oddly cool with everything. In fact, he seemed happier and more relaxed lately too. He had agreed to it pretty readily, now Sam thought back on it. It occurred to him that Dean was possibly The Most Tactile Person In The World, and had gotten very used to manhandling Sam when they were younger. Dean probably needed this more than he did, and Sam had a vague impression that he had given Dean permission to do something that Dean had maybe been holding off on for _Sam’s_ sake. 

The one side-effect to his and Dean’s new comfort around each other was a subtle sense that they needed to tone it down in front of other people. When they were out in public, or around their mother, or Jody, or Cas and Jack, there was a bit of stiffness to them now. Hopefully not enough for anyone to notice. But he and Dean had an unspoken agreement to keep all this low when others were around, not engage in any “PDA” so to speak. It wasn’t that big a deal - they’d been doing that their whole lives with how they spoke in public, so it was just another thing.

Overall, Sam was pretty pleased with himself. He had needed to straighten something out in himself, and he had, and both he and Dean seemed better off for it. Sam had needed to remind himself that “not all touching was romantic or sexual” (and that Dean-touching was _definitely_ not romantic or sexual.) And he was actually doing that. 

It was rare for things to be so uncomplicated.

**

Lately their hunts had been pretty easy, open-and-shut cases. Nobody injured, no major complications, over pretty quick.

But this vamp nest… was something else entirely.

This time it was Dean that got the shit kicked out of him, until Sam was able to dispatch the last of them.

Dean was on the ground bleeding. Sam raced over, so panicked he could hear his heartbeat in his head. _If he’s dead, I don’t know what I’ll-_

Dean’s eyes tracked Sam. He was breathing. His hand moved up towards Sam, who was so relieved he nearly passed out himself. He scooped Dean up and bodily hauled him into a sitting position against the nearest wall. Grabbed Dean’s face and knelt closer to look at the gash on his forehead. Concussion for sure.

Sam was so focused on making sure Dean was okay that he hadn’t realized how close they were. His eyes ticked down from Dean’s wound to find their faces just a few inches apart. Both of them breathing heavily from the pain on Dean’s end, the subsiding panic on Sam’s end, and the exertion of moving Dean for both of them. Dean’s hands still clutching Sam’s back. Staring at each other wide-eyed. 

And then they were kissing frantically. Sam briefly pressed in closer, could feel Dean’s arms tighten around him and his fingers dig into the back of Sam’s shoulders.

And then they realized. Dean stiffened, Sam jumped away as if he’d been scalded. 

They couldn’t look at each other.


	3. Chapter 3

_Fuck._

Fuck fuck fuck.

FUCK.

They were fucked. Sam was fucked.

Sam had barely even seen Dean for nearly a week now. He’d been out every night, and Sam didn’t need to wonder too much where he was going or _who_ he might be doing. 

Sam had always assumed he didn’t like thinking of Dean sleeping around because Dean is his brother, and it’s gross. 

He had always assumed the surge of annoyance he felt when Dean flirted or slept with women was because he didn’t like Dean’s “player” act.

He had always assumed it was just some leftover bratty-little-brotherness that made him irritated when Dean gave someone else too much attention.

What in fuck were they going to do now?

This was bad. It was disgusting, it was fucked up, it was all Sam’s fucking fault because of his own stupid fucking plan to touch each other more. As a way to deal with Sam’s stupid fucking wrong feelings. He thought that would make… all this… less. He thought it would make things normal between them, less confusing. Less conflicted.

_Fuck._

So hunting hadn’t even been a concept for the past week. Dean had been mostly gone, Sam had been too busy losing his mind to even check for cases.

Sam wasn’t sure how to get back to normal. If they ever could. Sam had fucked them up completely, so even if Dean ever came back longer than it took to shower and change his clothes, he would sure as hell never relax around Sam again. Never trust Sam with much of anything, again.

Sam’s stomach churned, as he replayed the moment yet again in his mind. What was worse than that it happened, was that Sam had actually really fucking liked it. That in the second or two before they’d caught themselves, Sam had already wanted...more. And even now, every time he remembered it, he squirmed a little, and not because it was uncomfortable.

If Dean had been literally anyone else, Sam might have fucked that person right then and there, surrounded by fucking dead vampires. What a sick fuck he was. No wonder Dean didn’t want anything to-

“Hey.”

Sam started out of his ruminating, with Dean standing awkwardly at his bedroom door. Dean didn’t come into his room, and Sam didn’t move off his bed. They may as well have been on opposite sides of the Grand Canyon.

“Hey Dean.” He honestly had no clue what to say to him right now. Apologize for being a sick fuck?

“Sam, I - I’m sorry. For these past few days, I-”

“No, no, Dean, don’t apologize. I’m sorry, I’m sorry for all of fucking-”

“No, Sam. Let me finish. I just, I had to work through some stuff. But you know, things like this can happen to people.”

Sam stared at Dean. “Wait, what?” _I’m pretty sure making out with your brother isn’t just a thing that happens._

“Look, we’d been hunting, we’d been fighting, adrenaline was high, people do crazy shit. It happens. It was just some crazy, proof-of-life bullshit. That’s all. We don’t need to think about it.”

Sam sat up a little straighter. That made sense. People did do all kinds of crazy shit when they were amped up, it was probably just something like that. Maybe he didn’t have to worry about it so much. Sam nearly laughed out loud when he realized how simple it was, when he’d been getting so worked up, wondering what the hell was wrong with him.

“Yeah, yeah. Dean. You’re right. That must be it. Some weird, proof-of-life, adrenaline moment. Yeah. Okay.”

Dean still looked a little stiff and awkward. But he nodded curtly to Sam and walked towards his own room. 

Sam sank back into his pillow, and couldn’t help but feel relieved. Okay, maybe the whole _touching_ thing had been a bad idea. But at least Dean was back. They’d be okay, eventually. 

Just put all of this crap behind them.

**

_Sam groaned as Dean bit down on his neck, his body pressed up against him. Panting, Sam began to work at Dean’s jeans, barely able to think straight as Dean-_

Sam woke to a sizzling sound coming from the kitchen, and the smell of pancakes. Dean was cooking breakfast. It was weird for him to be up before Sam was. Sam shook his head, trying to clear out the cobwebs of his dream, threw on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and washed up before joining his brother in the kitchen.

In the last few weeks, they had settled into more-or-less normalcy. They chatted about hunts, argued about music and movies, even cracked a few jokes. But there was still a certain… carefulness between them. Things were good, but light.

They were very careful to touch each other as little as possible these days. 

Dean seemed vaguely sad a lot of the time. Sam felt a nagging loneliness that he absolutely refused to analyze. 

Sam had accepted the idea that they had just had some _weird_ moment right after clearing the vamp nest, and that in time, they’d hopefully be able to move past it completely.

Except that Sam kept having sex dreams about his brother. 

He freaked out the first time it happened, but by now was just hoping that his brain was just trying to… process what had happened between them, and that it would work itself out eventually. Hopefully, as they moved on from all that, the dreams would subside on their own. In the meantime, he wanted to give them as little thought as possible.

What Sam was more ashamed of, were the times he woke up from those dreams so turned on he wound up jerking off. That was something he could never tell Dean. Or, you know, anyone. Ever. The only thing worse than having weird sexual fantasies about your brother, is apparently some broken, fucked-up part of you being _really fucking into it_. Sam hadn’t been this sexually amped-up since he was a teenager. Or possibly when he was soulless. 

Sam grunted a greeting at Dean as he passed him to get to the coffee maker. Dean sarcastically grunted back before plating up Sam’s food.

“Jody goddamn woke me up this morning.” Dean said as they sat down, pushing his phone over to Sam to show him way-too-nasty-for-this-time-of-day-photos of dismembered dead bodies. “Says something bad is going down outside Omaha. Sounded like some pissed off pagan gods again, tearing up the place. She thinks it’s probably above her pay grade, considering, but asked if we were good for it. I was thinking we pack up and head out after we eat.”

Sam, far too experienced at casually perusing gore while eating, nodded while chewing on his pancakes. He could do some research on the way, get a better idea of what was taking off with people in the middle-of-goddamn-nowhere, Nebraska. Gods were usually pretty easy to deal with, their weaknesses well-documented. 

Sounded easy enough.


	4. Chapter 4

_Nonononononononononono-_

Sam tried to think over the panicked loop in his head. How in the ever-loving fuck did some obscure Native American trickster manage to abduct Dean? 

Sam couldn’t precisely disagree with Iktomi’s “cause”, being pissed off and vengeful over the injustices done to the Sioux people by the white man, but the whole kidnapping-and-grisly-murder thing was a problem.

And of course, now that he (it?) had Dean, Sam had every intention of tearing the motherfucker up. 

Sam felt a little _too_ casual about the goddamn scythe he was carrying. Native American gods were a bit tricky - the lore was more scant, it had been hard for Sam to find anything specific that might kill it. But usually, beheading worked. At least long enough to buy some time. 

He tried to ignore the high-pitched fear he was feeling at Dean being missing. So far, Iktomi had murdered all his abductees in nasty ways, dismembering their limbs and removing their hearts. He’d had Dean for over eight hours now, somehow had managed to abscond with fucking Dean from the goddamn gas station while Sam was in the fucking bathroom. Every minute Sam didn’t find them…

After a frantic analysis of the region’s terrain, Sam had a reasonable idea of where Iktomi was retreating with his victims, and was whacking into some serious bushcountry somewhere between Nebraska and Iowa. The scythe was serving more than one purpose here, as he finally came upon the cave where they were probably hiding out. Given the blood spatters Sam was seeing on the rock face, he was sure this was it.

Unhesitating, Sam stormed into the cave, finding Iktomi - here still looking like his normal-dude-alter-ego self, and not his true spidery-looking self - slicing at a strung-up, half-conscious Dean with a knife. Dean looked up at Sam, but seemed dazed and out of it. White-hot rage surged through Sam as he strode forward, swinging his scythe perilously. Iktomi, who possessed some insane strength, caught the handle of Sam’s scythe and held it. Sam struggled for a moment, before Iktomi abruptly released the scythe, causing it to fling back towards Sam slicing his leg while Iktomi cackled. Sam cried out and dropped down. It was a stupid fucking way to hurt himself, and he remembered that while Iktomi was currently imitating a slasher-killer, he was usually considered another fucking Trickster. He heard Dean, who had been watching rather foggilly up to this point, scream his name, seemingly snapping to alertness at Sam’s distress.

Iktomi had inexplicably vanished. 

After quickly glancing around and not seeing the bastard anywhere, Sam climbed back to his feet and limped over to Dean. He raised one hand to cup Dean’s face for a second and see if he was okay, before reaching up to untie Dean’s hands. Dean’s eyes raked up and down Sam’s body as well, trying to ascertain without being able to touch, that Sam was indeed standing (more or less) in front of him and was (more or less) alright. 

But the reprieve didn’t last long. Before Sam could fully release Dean, Iktomi - now in full-on, gross spider-dude form- reappeared behind him, slashing at Sam with the same knife he’d been using to torture Dean. Sam cried out and dropped to his knees once more, while Iktomi plunged the knife into Sam’s shoulder. 

But it was enough for Dean, who managed to burst from his loosened ties, Superman-style (in a less _murdery_ situation, it might have looked pretty comical), grab up the scythe on the ground, and decapitate Iktomi in one fluid motion.

Then he fell to his knees in front of Sam, choking out a desperate-sounding _“Sammy.”_

Wide-eyed, Dean frantically checked over Sam before flinging his arms around Sam’s neck. Sam, who had spent hours fearing the worst while trying to track Dean down, couldn’t help himself and clung to his brother, burying his face into the crook between Dean’s neck and shoulder like they were kids again and Sam had just fallen off his bike. 

“Fuck Dean, _fuck_ ,” Sam started babbling, in an almost giddy hysteria. “I didn’t know what had happened to you, I didn’t know if you were still even fucking alive or if it had already, already… God, if I had come in any later, I don’t know-”

“Sammy, Sam, it’s okay,” Dean said soothingly, smoothing down Sam’s hair. “It’s alright Sammy, everything’s alright, you made it, you got me.” Perhaps betraying Dean’s own receding panic, Sam felt Dean’s nose nuzzle into his hair, a deep inhale, and a wetness that felt awfully like tears.

“Fuck Sam, that motherfucker just fucking _stabbed_ you. You just fucking _dropped_ , for a second there I didn’t know…”

Dean didn’t finish the thought, but released Sam just enough to cup his face and press his forehead into Sam’s. Their noses were rubbing together, but Sam barely noticed that. They were both being way too emotional right now, Sam had a nagging worry that it wasn’t just about this hunt, but he needed this too much to go there. They both held onto each other and, in unison, exhaled. 

**

Sam woke up with a slight start. They had both nodded off watching _Winchester_ , because Dean had felt like being goddamn ironic or something. Dean was drooling on Sam’s shoulder with his right arm splayed down Sam’s thigh. Sam had woken up with his cheek resting against the top of Dean’s head.

Something had shifted after that last hunt. It turned out Dean’s injuries were mostly superficial, mostly Iktomi had been toying with him and scratching him up, but there were a few deeper gouges. Sam had a nasty cut to his leg, and the stab wound on his shoulder was going to take a little while to heal. In the meantime, he was benched from hunting, and refused to hear of Dean going out alone. 

They’d both been hurt worse before, but something about that hunt had rattled them. As they patched each other up, they were almost reverent, slow and gentle and soft, in marked contrast to their usual, perfunctory fixes. After Dean had done what he could with Sam’s shoulder wound, he rested his hand on Sam’s shoulder and squeezed. Sam didn’t complain about the jolt of pain, which in an odd way also felt good, like a reaffirmation that they were both alive and alright.

Their previous awkwardness evaporated, suddenly neither one of them seemed to want to be more than about two feet from the other. Dean fussed and hovered, as he always did when Sam was hurt, and Sam couldn’t quite find it in himself to protest this time. He felt like he was seeing Dean strung up in that cave again every time he closed his eyes, and welcomed having him close by. Their previous uneasiness with each other had been replaced with a mutual need to soothe and reassure, and there were now a million reasons to grab arms and shoulders, put a hand to a back or leg, push hair aside to check for wounds, even though they both knew the trickster had never gotten near Sam’s face. 

Unable to hunt, or even train that much with Sam’s leg, they were mostly rattling around the bunker, still working some during the day, researching and cataloging and coordinating with other hunters, and working their way through Dean’s slasher-flick collection at night. Rather often one or both of them would nod off, waking up in a tangle of limbs. They tended to gravitate towards Dean’s room instead of the TV room, and Sam pretended he had no idea why, but they both seemed to like hanging out on Dean’s bed way better than the recliners. Sam found himself rather reluctant to get up and leave most nights to go back to his own room.

Tonight, the way Dean was leaning on him limited his range of motion, but Sam fondly traced his thumb in circles on Dean’s leg, before gently getting up to turn off the TV and leave.

At this point, he didn’t give half a fuck if it was “normal” or not. He was just so goddamn grateful that his brother was there.


	5. Chapter 5

Two weeks after Iktomi, Dr. Dean decided that it was okay for Sam to add some (much) whiskey to his painkiller regime. Mostly, Sam knew, Dean wanted to get drunk, and felt weird doing that alone and wanted Sam along for the ride.

Hanging out yet again in Dean’s room, both already dressed-down in T-shirts and sweats, the booze and meds had Sam feeling giddy and loopy. At one point Dean wanted to shift position and essentially manhandled Sam to shift him around and make some more space. When he took his hands away, a very-drunk Sam, lying mostly flat on his back, couldn’t quite stop himself from making a small noise of protest.

Dean’s expression changed suddenly, and he regarded Sam seriously. Through his haze, Sam registered that perhaps Dean wanted them both drunk for a reason. That maybe Dean needed to talk about something he couldn’t bring himself to say sober.

“Sammy, I don’t wanna fuck you up.”

“Hmm? Dean, whaddaya mean?”

“Like, _me_. You know I don’t really care. I know I’m fucked up. I know, how I am about you. About us. ‘s fucked up. I dunno if it was Dad, or the life, or just fuckin’ _me_.”

“But, ‘s different for you. You don’t have to be like that. Sam, you’re, you’re _better_. ‘N I fuckin’ scare myself, y’know? With, how much I fuckin’ need you. How much ‘m willing to take, y’know? Never really feels like enough.”

“D’n,” Sam began, sitting partway up and willing himself to goddamn _enunciate_. “You don’t know. You don’t fucking know. Dean, every time I’ve been with someone, ev’ry time I thought I had that shit, y’know? That life I wanted. Ev’ry time, you’d roll up, and I would just fuckin’ _follow_ you. Off a fuckin’ cliff, right into fuckin’ Hell if that’s where you lead. I’d build this shit, ‘n as soon as you showed up, it became the wrong fuckin’ place for me to be.”

Sam reached up with both hands, clumsily grabbing Dean’s face. “Dean, I am already _so fucking fucked up_. ‘N like, it’s bad ‘n it’s sick ‘n it’s not supposed to be this way, but sometimes it’s just the best fuckin’ thing. That with all the fucked up shit, ‘n all the stuff we’ve been through - fuck Dean, there’s still not a goddamn place I wouldn’t go if you’re the one takin’ me there.” 

Dean looked desperate for a moment, and Sam could see him choking back tears as he dug his hands into the backs of Sam’s arms. “S-Sam, I just don’t wanna do som’thing that hurts you. Or makes you fuckin’ hate me. I just-”

Sam wasn’t sure who had done what, if he had just cut Dean off or if Dean had cut his own fucking self off, but all he knew was they had started kissing. Wet, messy, open-mouthed, slobbery-drunk kisses, as Sam pulled Dean down on top of him. And in Sam’s loopy high state, Dean pressing against him felt _so fucking good_ , and he both arched his body up and pulled Dean in tighter, letting out and embarrassingly loud groan. 

Dean broke their kiss and began mouthing at Sam’s cheeks, his face. Sam hadn’t realized that both he and Dean were crying. Dean nuzzled and kissed, propping himself up on his elbows to dig his hands into Sam’s hair, babbling roughly into Sam’s ear.

“Fuck Sammy, Fuck. I just fuckin’, I can’t even fuckin’ tell you. I just. Just fuckin’ _want_ …”

Sam was already lost in the heady sensations of it all, Dean’s breath, his smell, his fucking _body_ , his fucking drunken rambling, had Sam arching and groaning and panting even though they’d really barely done anything. Clawing at Dean’s back, all Sam could do was return Dean’s barely-coherent rambling with his own. 

“Oh God Dean _fuck_. Don’t fuckin’ stop, ‘s so good…”

Neither of them really knew what they were doing, the mechanics of how this was supposed to go. Neither of them had done anything… quite like this, before. Between their drunken states and the torrents of feeling coming out of them after so long, neither of them were particularly artful or skilled right then. They both just grabbed and kissed and bit and ran their hands across all over everywhere, writhing against each other while slurred voices continued to pant and sigh and groan, disjointed phrases consisting mostly of swear words, each other’s names, and God (who they sure as hell hoped wasn’t listening anymore). They reached around and over and under, perhaps one or two things were shifted strategically, but they didn’t even take off any clothes. 

Decades of combined experience between them, and they were fumbling around like a couple of teenagers. Neither of them was adept enough right then to do much more, and maybe there was still a slight awkwardness to it. Neither one of them wanted to stop, to confirm, to take another step, because maybe if they did, if they named it, the moment would break. They’d realize it was wrong and they should stop. If they let go of each other for even a moment, they might stop.

Neither one was ready to take that chance. So they kept going. It was eventually Dean who reached down between them. Sam followed suit.

Sam came apart under Dean’s hands, the fact that it was _Dean_ , it was _them_ , making up tenfold for the lack of skill involved and feeling better than anything else Sam had felt in his life. What felt like a lifetime’s worth of repressed want had him breathless and reeling, as he buried his face into the crook of his big brother’s neck and came with a strangled yell that came out halfway like a sob. 

“Oh fuck, _Sam_ -” Sam going over the edge tipped Dean, who himself came a moment later. Panting, Dean lowered himself beside Sam, into the crook between Sam’s arm and his torso, resting his head against Sam’s shoulder. Sam was dimly aware that they really needed to clean up, but Dean was still clinging tightly around Sam’s middle, and Sam just couldn’t stand the idea of letting Dean go or putting a single iota of space between them. 

Eventually, Dean shifted just enough to unearth a bottle of water and some tissues. Not great, but it’d do. They both looked away while the other did a basic clean-up and straightened their clothes, suddenly a bit embarrassed, for reasons neither of them could quite grasp. Still reluctant to name what had just happened, even though neither of them had a moment’s regret. But as soon as they were both done, they settled back in, arms wrapped around one another and Dean’s face pressed into Sam’s neck this time.

“Sammy, don’t go back to your room tonight. Jus’ stay here.”

“Dean, I didn’t even remember I _had_ a fuckin’ room ‘til you said that.”

“You okay?”

What a _Dean_ thing to ask him. “Yeah Dean, ‘m good… it was good.”

“Y’know, if I ever see anyone touching you ever again, I might just kill ‘em on the fuckin’ spot.”

“Shit Dean, you trying to get me goin’ again? Fuck.” 

He heard Dean softly chuckle to himself as he nuzzled into Sam and gave him a squeeze. Dean had already been a kinda possessive shit even before all this, and Sam had always actually kinda liked it. And Dean had always known that Sam had kinda liked that. While Sam would sure as fuck never say it out loud, he liked being “Dean’s”. ‘Cause he was a selfish shit himself, and he liked being the most important thing in the world to his brother.

As they both drifted off to sleep, and air of contentment settled over them. There was a certain freedom in it, embracing the broken, accepting the happiness that came in the wrong damn form. No questions, no analyzing, no worrying about it, just letting themselves be who they were and goddamn enjoy it for a minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone who read this to the end! Feedback is welcome!


End file.
